We Live As We Scream
by Comidia Del Arte
Summary: Strangers from the North ride through Paris in the hopes of encountering no trouble from the locals. Their language is strange, their accents unfamiliar. Leading them is their Queen, a woman that the troupe calls "Máthair Magda."
1. Strangers of the North

Rain, coming from the north the troupe had seen its fair share. However, there was something surreal about it. As it combined with a weak sun which peaked through the clouds to shine down on the streets of Paris; making every cobble stone glimmer like precious gems. Caravan wheels rattled against the stone as the troupe filed down path, all the while receiving disapproving looks from the Parisians.

The figure leading the troupe had her eyes downcast, her face shadowed by a thick wool head scarf. The woman's booted feet broke the placid surface of the puddles that stood in her way. Her hands tightened on the reins of the lead horse. Hearing the clicking of hooves against the pavement, the woman paused and turned to look over her shoulder. Up the short line of wagons, a young boy no older than 16 or 17 rode up to her. Leaning down from the ragged black shire, they conversed. The language they spoke, foreign on the ears of the citizens of Paris.

With a nod, the boy dismounted and the two started to undo the harness that shackled the gray shire to the caravan. The black shire was then strapped in, and made to pull. Taking the gray shire off to the side, the woman mounted and rode bareback. Her olive green skirts bunched up, causing the rope of beads on her hips to clap together as her thighs hugged the horse's flanks.

Taking up the reigns she guided her mount to the back of the troupe, circling the caravans to keep unwanted trouble at bay. Her tattered black cloak draped over the croup of the horse, soaking in the remainder of rain as it did so.

Every so often, the curtains of one of wagons would drawn back to reveal a little girl's face, which peaked out to gaze at the people they passed. Seeing this, the mother would pull her back inside. When this happened for the 5th time, the woman rode over and consoled the child. The girl giggled and grabbed for her, speaking in that strange language but all the while crying out "Máthair Magda!"

Leaning forward, the woman brushed the hair from her eyes and nodded, telling her to go away from the window.

Off in the distance the bells of Notre Dame tolled, causing the rider to look up. She looked awe struck, in her traveling she had seen so much. Yet, nothing compared to the majesty of the legendary Bell Tower. Now that the rain had stopped she pulled down her head scarf, the dim light of spring sun reflected in her sharp gray eyes. Her hair was curled and played down her back like a wild waterfall of ebony soot.

Smiling slightly, feeling the thunder of the bells shake her very insides. The woman felt a new sense of invigoration. Holding tightly to her horse, she urged him forward at a gallop. Pausing just short of the second wagon; breathing heavily she leaned forward to hug the neck of the gray shire.

Pulling up she returned to her guard duty, taking in every detail. Her attention was snatched by a sudden splash of warm color against the cold gray stones that made the city. What she saw was heavily decorated cart surrounded a dozen or so children. Inside the cart was a man dressed in an array of color. A purple mask darned his features and his hat sat low on his brow. The children giggled and clapped when the man withdrew a puppet from behind his back. Another gypsy that was a surprise; the troupe had seen evidence of the local gypsies. But they had not met any as they trekked through the city.

The shire whinnied and tossed his mane back and forth. This drew the attention of the Puppet Man. Looking from his captive audience, his back straightened and the clown like tomfoolery was absent from his coal black eyes. Now he looked to be calculating and quick, instead of foolish and silly. The gypsies stared at each other. "Máthair Magda!"

Breaking eye contact, the woman looked ahead sensing trouble. Jabbing her horse's sides with the heels of her feet, they flew to the front only to come upon a troubling sight. A barricade made up of at least 10 soldiers standing to attention. Leading them was a pale old man swathe in judge's black, riding a horse whose eyes burned like hell fire and size could rival the woman's mount. Drawing herself up, she spoke to them. Her voice clipped yet lilting, and was made harsh by her accent. "We only wish to pass through, we give you no trouble. Let us pass."

The old man fixed her with a cold glare. "Where is your leader?"

Straightening even more, the woman replied. "I am Mother Magda, and I lead this troupe."

At her words, the man chuckled and rode his horse forward. Regarding Magda, a cruel smile hacked into his wooden face. "So expected of your kind, to place their trust in the hands of a girl, but I suppose there is more to you; perhaps you have power that a holy man such as myself could not fathom, powers drawn from Lucifer himself."

He rode past her, drawing near the caravan. Turning her horse, Magda intercepted him before his hand could so much a touch the walls of the wagon. She was growing more irritated, this man testing her and trying her patience. Sneering, his hand shot out and knocked her off her horse. While Magda slowly gained her feet, the man ordered the soldiers to take the caravan.

The door to the first wagon was thrown open, and a mother and her daughter were dragged out, crying and terrified. The father roared and tired to protect them, only to be hit across the face and have his leg slashed by a sword. Running to their aid, Magda threw herself at the first solider and pushed him away from the mother and daughter. Taking out one of her knives, she hit the soldier over the head with the butt of the knife, knocking him out. Turning she threw the knife and it sunk in to the knee of the second soldier.

Magda met the Judge's eyes, his lips twisted into a snarl. A crowd had gathered to watch the display. Turning to them at large, the Judge cried. "Look how this gypsy vermin injures an innocent man! Not even a hint of remorse for what she has done! Their kind enjoy murder and pain, they bathe in the blood of God's children! We must cleanse our souls, our fair city of these heathen beings! Arrest her!"

Some of the people voiced their agreements, while other kept quiet not wanting to anger the Judge. Looking to the water strewn street, the troupe leader smiled, her hands shoved into a small pouch she kept at her hip. Taking a large handful of gold powder, she threw it down at her feet, causing a loud "Crack". In a cloud of yellow smoke, she had gone.

The Judge shrieked. "Witchcraft!"

Something smacked him in the back of the head. Turning, his eyes widened. Behind him, astride the gray shire was Magda and without even a second's hesitation, she turned and jabbed her horse's sides, her frame melting into the contours of the shire's back, as she flew down the streets o Paris, toward Notre Dame taking the entire fleet of soldiers and the Judge with her.

When the clicking of hooves had long since disappeared, only then did the troupe go into action. The first caravan emptied as some men and women came out to comfort and aid the small family that the soldiers had attacked. The father was taken inside to have his wound tended too. His wife and daughter followed him in.

A tall gangly man joined the boy who had been leading the troupe. The child had long since gotten off his horse. He looked completely terrified. "I'm sorry."

He bowed his head in shame only to look up when the man rested a comforting hand on his shoulder. "You did nothing wrong Gunari. Mother knows what she's doing."

Looking up the street to where their leader had rode. "Where do you think she's going?"

Glancing upward, the man found the looming form of the Bell Tower. "Notre Dame, I'd expect, she'll wait out there and find us later once the soldiers are called off."

The two went down the lines of caravans. Gunari ran to catch up with his companion. "But that's so far Besnik. What if Asher is too weak from traveling to take her all the way?"

Besnik paused and eyed the boy. Though he smiled, there was doubt in his eyes. "Asher will get her there and she'll find us later. For now, we need to get off the streets before we run into any more trouble. Go and tell the others we'll be moving on once we've secured Luca, that wound of his looked nasty and I don't want him be jostled about."

Nodding, the boy ran down the line and started giving the rest of the troupe Besnik's message. Again, the man looked to Notre Dame. Though he would never let his worries seep through, he feared for his troupe's Mother. "Maria, see her safely to your domain, and grant her sanctuary."

With a sigh, Besnik tore his eyes from the Tower. When he did, he jumped about a foot in the air. Behind him stood a group of gypsies, and not the ones of his troupe. These were strangers to him. "Bonjour."

The greeting was spoken by a man dressed in a patchwork tunic and purple leggings. When he smiled, Besnik noted the chip in his right canine. "What do you want?"

Glancing around, the stranger smiled at the fact that the crowd that had gathered had long ago dispersed. Turning, his grin widened. But when he spoke, his voice was hushed. "We are here to offer you sanctuary, to bring you to our court."


	2. On the Steps of Notre Dame

The wind cut into her skin like a thousand blades. Night was beginning to fall as she rode, but her pursuers were relentless. With every turn she made to get to the cathedral, Magda would find her way blocked. The Judge was smart, he knew exactly where she wanted to go and he was determined to outlast her in this chase.

Asher nearly threw her off when they had come down a particular path. Some soldiers had run to barricade their path. This startled the horse and caused him to rear, almost unseating Magda. She managed to hold on with her legs and tangled her fingers into Asher's mane.

The sun had all but gone from the sky now, and her eyes were heavy with exhaustion. Burying her face in the neck of the horse, she held tightly and rode the sound of the soldiers and the thundering hooves of the Judge's steed echoing in her ears.

An idea struck her, and she slammed her heels into Asher's flanks, Demanding that he go faster. The shire snorted in distaste but did as he was told. When they were well ahead of the soldiers, Magda yanked the reins back, forcing Asher to take a sharp turn into a cramped path that ran between two houses. Steering him in the direction of a dim corner, Magda stroked his neck and whispered in his ear which twitched to catch her command "Cuir."

The shire slowly bent his knees and tucked them under his body and lied down, allowing the darkness of the passage to swallow and conceal him and his rider from sight. Leaning forward, Magda clung to his neck and listened as the guards ran past them. When the sound of their footsteps had died down, she got off Asher and crept towards the entrance. They had not been any the wiser. Behind her, the shire snorted. Turning, she walked back to her companion. Running her hand down Asher's neck she moved to stand in front of him, pressing her forehead to his "éirich."

The horse nickered and got to his feet. Nodding her satisfaction, Magda allowed him to walk free knowing full well that he would follow without the pull of the reins. Going in the opposite the direction they had come, they exited the alley in the hopes of finding the troupe.

Pulling her scarf over her head to combat the cold, Magda's eyes swept the empty street. If Besnik had continued on the set path, they should be nearing the outer rims of Paris. Glancing up, Magda eyed the stars, only to find the skies caked with heavy black clouds. Reaching back, she grabbed Asher for comfort. She had completely lost her bearings during the hunt. She had tried to keep Notre Dame in her sights. That seemed pointless now, the shadows had swallowed everything, and there was no moon out to light the way.

They would wait for her; she didn't hold any fear that her troupe would leave her behind. Magda had made plans if something like this were to happen, this wasn't the first time she had used herself as bait when things became less than civil with the locals. Though this had been the first time an army and judge had pursued her. Most of the time, the mob consisted of angry villagers and from time to time, a harried priest.

With a sigh, Magda placed a hand on Asher's shoulder and the two walked in silence through the streets, the click of the shire's hooves, a homey sound in the stillness, his sweat soaked coat, warm against her cold hands.

Magda could smell the rain long before it came. Soon it poured down from the sky by the bucket loads. Shaking her soaking hair from her eyes, they headed back the way they had come. If her memory served her well, Magda had made several passes of the Bell Tower but had been headed off by the soldiers. Perhaps the deacons would be kind enough to offer shelter from the elements. Thankfully, after many wrong turns and dead ends, they came upon the cathedral steps.

Shivering from the ice cold sheets of rain, Magda was about to rap on the large double doors. Feeling a presence behind her, she jumped when a something closed on her shoulder. Grabbing for a knife, she spun about, holding the blade to the throat of the one who dared to touch her. Magda's face went blank. She had been expecting a soldier or that maniac judge. Instead, she found herself looking into the dark eyes of the Puppet Man. Though this was indeed a shock, she didn't dare withdraw her weapon.

Putting up his hands in mock surrender, the stranger grinned revealing the tell tale chip in his tooth. "What are you going to do with that?"

He nodded toward the small blade. "I could pick my teeth with that thing."

His voice was good natured, but the mockery in it grated on Magda's nerves. "What do you want?"

Feigning hurt, the man sighed dramatically. "I was going to be the gentlemen and offer you shelter from the rain."

Magda's eyes narrowed, such kindness couldn't come without a price. That smile never left his face. "But you seem to have it well handled. So I guess I'll just be going…"

That said, the man turned and looked to be making his way down the steps. "Though, your troupe is rather worried about you, especially the children."

The foreigner ran after him, grabbing his arm and yanking him around to face her. "What did you say?"

Pulling his arm from her grasp, the man straightened his tunic "Nothing of consequence, just that your troupe is worried about you."

Magda's eyes raked over the stranger's face, taking in the manic brown eyes, the receding hairline which was slightly hidden under the wide brim hat, and the annoying smirk that the man all the more irritating. "Who are you?"

He chuckled. "I could ask you the same question. Your troupe is very tight lipped about who you all are and where you come from. But from observation, I can easily bet that you are their Queen."

Magda's eyebrows rose slightly, the stranger continued. "As for me, I lead the gypsies of Paris."

With a hint of reluctance, Magda put her knife away. "So, you're the self proclaimed King of Truants?"

Pleased, the stranger came up to where Magda stood his smile, almost wolfish "Aw, so you have heard of me?"

She let an indignant snort of laughter, turning she grabbed for Asher's reins. "Your reputation is less than desirable."

His eyes sparkled. "Oh, and what does it say about me?"

Meeting his gaze Magda replied. "I've been told that though you have a certain fondness for children. However, despite the clown like style that you incorporate into your art, the real you can be cruel and almost heartless."

She wanted to say more, but she could feel the color coming to her cheeks. Smirking, Clopin made his way down the steps, Magda falling into step with him with Asher at her heels. "I'm guessing you have more to add to the tales of my misdeeds?"

Her eyes slid over to, watching him. "Go on then."

Looking away, Magda kept her attention forward. "You are also said to be quite the ladies man, not surprising seeing that children love you. A woman likes that in a man. However, you are less than kind to your past lovers, though in that area you are not considered cruel just a tad insensitive."

At her words, Clopin stared down at her. Catching the look on his face from the corner of her eye, Magda smirked. "We travel through many lands King; it is only natural that I speak with other gypsies. I've never been through Paris and I needed to get some idea of the people and the land I would be dealing with."

Clopin smiled. "Well, you didn't profit from the careful planning, you were separated from your troupe."

This earned the Puppet Man a glare. "I've performed that trick many times; I just wasn't expecting such a passionate hatred for our kind on the part of that Judge."

"Perhaps you should have focused more on learning about Paris's dear Judge Claude Frollo, instead of taking a personal interest in my love life hmm?"

Magda let out a quiet bark of laughter. "It isn't my fault that you send away so many unhappy lovers."

This time, Clopin had taken offence. "Oh, believe you me, I send them away very, very…"

He stopped short and threw out his arm and dragged Magda and Asher into an alley. Just in time to avoid two soldiers, both of whom were not taking their patrol duties the least bit seriously. They were singing and joking loudly. When the danger passed, Clopin spoke. Just by the tone of his voice, he was still dwelling on Magda's jab. "Because of your stupid beast, we're going to have to use the second entrance to get into the Court."

Snarling, Magda hissed. "That's like the pot calling the kettle black, dontcha think?"

Clopin grabbed the woman's shoulder and pushed down another alley. "Last I checked I wasn't a great hairy beast."

Giving him a once over, she snapped "Could have fooled me."

Drawing in closer, Clopin towered over her. "Perhaps you should show a little more respect for the man that saved your life."

That said, he turned and continued down the alley Magda behind him. "I saved my own life!"

Pausing, he looked down the street; they were nearing one of the entrances to the catacombs. "Ah, but if I had left you at Notre Dame, Frollo would have found a way to capture and hang you."

Glancing over his shoulder he added. "And if you had hidden, he would have gone after your troupe. Frollo doesn't have my weakness for children; he would have burned every single one of them."

Such cruelty from someone who proclaimed themselves a holy man, not even the priests from the North could stomach the murder of innocent children. "We're here."


	3. Swimming in Ice

Coming back to earth, Magda took in their surroundings. They had come to what appeared to be a river. "You're horse is too big to go along the ledge to get into the catacombs. He'll have to swim."

Sensing Magda's worry, Asher rested his large head on her shoulder almost as if to hug her. For the first time since they had met, Clopin displayed a look of concern and sympathy. "Will he be able to? We could use another entrance."

Giving the grey shire's muzzle a kiss, Magda nodded. "He's swum worse."

Asher whinnied, and moved past the two, making his way to the ledge that stood a few inches over the water. His mistress came to stand beside him. "How deep does it go?"

Clopin's eyebrows rose "E_xcusez-moi_?"

"How deep does this river run?"

For moment, Clopin blanked, he wasn't exactly sure. "Shouldn't go over your horse's head, why?"

But his question had already been answered by a "splash." Spinning around, Clopin found that both Magda and the horse had gone into the river, leaving behind her cloak, head scarf and the case that she been carrying on her back. Running to the ledge, he made an attempt to pull the mad-woman out. "Are you insane!? You'll freeze!"

Grasping Asher's neck, Magda looked up at him. "You don't know that."

Again, he tried to yank her out of the water, but she pushed his hands away. "I can't lead him on a higher level while he's in the water. He needs me next to him in case he startles."

Brilliant! The woman was obviously touched in the head, but there wasn't anything he could do. Clopin refused to risk freezing by going in the water himself to fetch her. Throwing his hands up in frustration, he grabbed her things from the ledge.

Clopin made his way toward the few inches of stone that led into the catacombs. As he walked, he could hear the Queen whispering to her horse as they swam after him. The trio continued on their path, Clopin looking over his shoulder to make sure Magda hadn't succumbed to shock. To his surprise, he found her gripping the reins of her horse and swimming through the ice cold water as if it was nothing. At long last the water began to recede as they came upon a tunnel; they had finally reached the catacombs.

Magda's skin had lost a bit of color; her lips were white with ice and her clothes were wet through. Rolling his eyes, Clopin walked over to her trembling form. "I told you."

Her teeth chattering, the woman looked up at him. "Last I checked…" She gave a well contained shiver. "I- I hadn't died yet."

Magda stumbled slightly, only to have the King reach to catch her. Snarling, she pulled herself together and away from him only to put all her weight on Asher. Reaching at the end of his rope, Clopin shook his head, at a loss for this woman's tenacity, annoyance playing on the words he spoke. "Bon Dieu, you are a stubborn little thing."

Tossing her hair from her face, she chuckled dryly "Family trait."

Though Magda tried many times to stop her shaking, the unsteadiness of her hands betrayed her as did the light blue that had begun to tinge her skin. Grabbing her cloak and scarf from Clopin, she stumbled into an empty cavern. When she returned she with the head scarf pulled tightly around her midriff and the cloak clamped around the rest of her body. Not giving a care for the look of surprise on the Kings face, she draped her wet clothes over Asher's back. Turning to him, she grabbed her remaining effects and they joined her clothes of the horse's back. Then she went to ring the water out of her hair. "Which way then, oh wise king? I am not familiar with your domain."

Jaw set, feeling a more annoyed than ever, Clopin lit a torch and led the new comer through the passages and deeper into the heart of the labyrinth, which concealed the gypsies' haven. They walked in silence, though from time to time Magda would hum to herself or even whisper to her horse, but she never spoke a word to the King. After so many twists and turns, they had finally reached the Court. The colors that splashed the dull and murky stone walls were practically blinding. It was all Magda to could do to keep from laughing, the Court of Miracles was truly something to behold. Taking note of the soft smile on her face, Clopin leaned in his voice smug "Impressive no?"

She nodded mutely, and then she looked to him. "Care to show me where you're stowed my troupe?"

Not the answer he wanted, Clopin had expected a gasp or some sort of expression of awe. But the look on the northerner's face was impassive, though there was slight glint in her grey eyes and her lips had turned up slightly in a controlled smile.

Perhaps something a little more grandeur would wake some sort of emotion that wasn't sarcasm of blatant disregard. So, Clopin looked to the Court at large and called for attention. "Allow me to present the final addition to the Northern Troupe!"

At his words, the Court turned their attention to the pair, some pointed while others whispered behind their hands. Magda glared at Clopin, and proceeded to pull her cloak tighter around her frame. Smirking, Clopin put his arm around her shoulder and continued to speak. "This is their leader!"

Smiling, Magda extended a polite nod of greeting, leaning back she whispered in Clopin's ear. "Now that you've had your fun, please take me to my troupe."

With a smirk, he mumbled. "But my people want to meet you."

"They can meet me _after _you take me to my troupe."

Her words were clipped and filled with venom. Clopin pouted. "Do you not trust me?"

This was hardly her idea of funny, grey eyes narrowed. Magda jabbed her finger into his chest. "Look, you don't know me, and I don't know you. Now, until I see my troupe and know that they are unharmed and safe, I won't even begin to trust you."

The two stood in silence. Both of them with their postures ridged and their eyes narrowed to angry slits. Clopin felt a hand on his shoulder, tearing his attention away from the northerner he looked over shoulder to find an old woman from his troupe. It appeared that she had heard the two leaders' heated conversation.

The old woman's face resembled worn leather, her hair was grey like ash and it was sprinkled with snow white flecks. Her eyes were a shade of amber, kind and warm, resembling whiskey, a drink from Magda's homeland. When the elder spoke, her voice was scratched yet somehow even kinder than her eyes "Clopin, you would ask for the same thing, if you were in her position. Their leader doesn't know you, or us and she is worried for her people. Take her to them, please."

With a sigh, the King relented and made his way through the crowd that had gathered. Magda and Asher hot on his heels. When she passed through the throng of people, they fell silent. Though there was some whispering here and there. Even though their talk was hidden behind their hands, Magda heard them. They talked of how light her skin was compared to them, some commented on the way spoke "She speaks through her nose." That seemed to be the most popular observation about the newcomer.

Keeping a hand on Asher's neck, Magda followed Clopin, never allowing her attention to stray from the Gypsy King's back. She understood the uneasiness of the people, even though most gypsies were nomads. These ones had probably never traveled into Scotland. She and her troupe were among the rare few that had. From what her father had told her, Magda's ancestors and those of her troupe were stolen from their homes by rough looking sailors, her father had them called Vikings.

Keeping her eyes forward, the trio made it through the crowd. Catching sight of a very familiar caravan, Magda smiled and quickened her stride passing Clopin as she did so. Her troupe could be found sitting around a small fire, looking worn and nervous. One of the children looked up at the sound of Asher's hooves. The little girl cried out with glee and left the safety of her mother's arms.

Going down to her level, Magda embraced the child and kissed her forehead. Within seconds, the rest of the troupe was on her. Babbling away, though Clopin could catch a look of worry and the clucking tone of the older women. They pulled Magda towards one of the caravans. Plucking at her still wet hair, and shaking their heads. "They consider themselves her surrogate mothers."

At the sound of the crackling voice, Clopin jumped, behind him stood Tsura, the old woman who had advised him earlier. "You speak their language?"

She nodded. "Very little, but enough to catch some of what they say."

Turning, Clopin watched as Magda was pushed inside one of the caravans. "What's it called?"

"Gaelic, the language of the north, they say they are mostly from Scotland, at least the children are. The elders of the troupe come from other places."

Nodding, the Gypsy King found that he hungered to know more. "What of Magda?"

Tsura's leathery face twisted with thought. "They say that she is part Gypsy, though they know nothing of her mother, I don't believe they ever met the woman. The union between her mother and father was mysterious. The boy disappeared and didn't return to them for little over 10 years. When he returned to them, he brought his daughter with him. It's rumored that the mother died of fever, though Magda doesn't speak of it."


	4. Téir Abhaile Riú

Seeing that his guests were settled, Clopin left the northerners to themselves. He had been out all night; naturally he felt he had earned some rest. Changing from his costume into a darker shade of clothes, Clopin kicked back, allowing his eyes to close for some well deserved sleep.

It felt like only a couple seconds had passed that Clopin was roused from sleep. He had been lying on his bed roll when the shrill fiddle of a violin assaulted his ears. Shooting up, he looked around his tent. "Do they ever sleep?"

Getting up, he opened the flap of his tent and peaked out. Looking toward Magda's troupe, he saw their fire burning high, while shadows danced around it in a whirl wind of laughter. Eyes narrowed he saw the familiar figure of a young girl by the name of Esmeralda. At her heels was a goat kid, who pranced around her like a doting child. Chuckling, the King of the Gypsies abandoned all thoughts of sleep. Standing, he dusted himself off and made his way toward the festive fire, the music growing louder and faster as he went. When he came into view of the pit, the music slowed, and another song began.

Taking in the crowd, Clopin found that most of his own had gathered to the join the northerners. The song started with the help of the father who had suffered the sword of one of the guards. Though he was sitting with his leg heavily bandaged and propped on a log, he still seemed happy as he took up the beat on his hoop drum. Then, a violin took up the tune. Eyes wandering once again, Clopin found that the Northern Mother was the cause for the music. Her hips swayed as the bow sawed across the instrument to create the rollicking melody.

A trio of girls stood close by, each as lovely and lively as the next. Their skirts swished merrily at their ankles and the girl with the curl snagged hair broke into song as she made a sweeping gesture to the Court.

"_Look how the light of the town  
the lights of the town are shining now  
tonight I'll be dancing around  
I'm off on the road to Galway now"_

The singer skipped away from the others. She was then followed, and her arms were grabbed and she was pulled back and rebuked.

"_Look how she's off on the town  
She's off on a search for sailors though  
There's fine fellas here to be found  
She's never been one to stay at home"_

The rebellious one pouted and tried to escape the two, but she was headed off. A finger was wagged playfully in her face.__

"Home you'll go and it's there you'll stay  
And you've work to do in the morning  
Give up your dream of going away  
Forget your sailors in Galway"

The girl rolled her eyes, then smiled and took up her skirts and her bare feet moved gracefully over the stone floor. __

"Téir abhaile riú, téir abhaile riú  
Téir abhaile riú Mhearai  
Téir abhail gus fan sa bhaile  
Mar tá do mhargadh déanta"

The girls kicked up their legs in unison, and spun on the balls of their feet. The violin played again, taking on a short solo. Giving Magda his attention, Clopin caught the look of blissful joy on the woman's face.

The rebellious one took her companions arms and giggled, she pointed to the men outside their troupe, winking and smiling coyly.__

"Come now and follow me down  
Down to the lights of Galway where  
There's fine sailors walking the town  
and waiting to meet the ladies there."

The men took the initiative and received the singer's flirtations by joining in their game. Soon, they too were dancing. The two other singers mimicked their companion and eyed the men up and down.

"_Watch now he'll soon be along  
He's finer than any sailor so…."_

At this, they each pulled out a spoon hand handed them to the curly haired girl.

_"Come on now pick up your spoons  
He's waiting to hear you play them WHOOO!"_

Taking up the utensils, she began to beat them on her knee, strumming them against her fingers while the other two danced away.__

"Here today and she's gone tomorrow  
And next she's going to Galway  
Jiggin' around and off to town  
And won't be back until morning"

Abandoning the spoons, the girl ran to join the dance.__

"Téir abhaile riú, téir abhaile riú  
Téir abhaile riú Mhearai  
Téir abhail gus fan sa bhaile  
Mar tá do mhargadh déanta."

Magda came skipping to the front, violin in hand. Her fingers danced along the neck of the instrument, while the bow caressed the body. Clopin could see that she had joined her people in baring her feet. Only, they couldn't be referred to as 'bare.' On the top of the left foot was some sort of image, inked into the skin. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was a black thistle.

The fire blazed as she leapt into the air. Her head thrown back, locks waving behind her, like smoke from the flames. Her laughter mingled well with the music of the instrument. Her troupe whooped as she played, clapping along to keep the beat. She began to spin, like a feral wind and began to draw closer to the outer edge of the circle, where Clopin stood. For a moment, it appeared that she had lost her balance.

Stumbling into the King's presence she took a second to right herself, her storm gray eyes laughing at him. Smirking, he took up a sort of step dance. Mirroring the movements he had seen the Northern men enacting. Magda smiled, and her body lowered to the floor, the bow causing a strange ghostly sound to emanate from the violin. She was teasing. Something the King of the Gypsies had not expected. Tossing her hair, Magda playing softened as the women began to sing again.

Jumping up, the girl from earlier made her way over to the group of men she had been eyeing earlier. Taking one of them by the hand, she giggled and led him into a dance.__

"Off with a spring in my step  
The sailors are searching Galway for  
A young lady such as myself  
For reels and jigs and maybe more."

Pulling back, she smiled giddily and the boy (Jacob) blew her a kiss as her companions led her away, shaking their heads at her games.__

"Stay here and never you mind  
The lights of the town are blinding you  
The sailors they come and they go."

Smirking, Clopin took hold Magda bow wielding hand. Bowing gracefully, he winked up at her. For a moment he swore he saw a dash of color spark in her cheeks.

_But listen to what's reminding you  
Handsome men surrounding you  
Dancing a reel around you."_

But as soon as it had come, it was gone. Pulling her hand out of his grasp, the Northern lady waved her bow around above her head, dancing around him as she did so._  
_

"_Home you'll go and it's there you'll stay  
And you've work to do in the morning  
Give up your dream of going away  
Forget your sailors in Galway."_

He snatched her, taking her waist, he spun her around as she played, his hands caressing the cusp of her hip. For the moment, it seemed that the two gypsy royals had eyes only for each other.__

"Téir abhaile riú, téir abhaile riú  
Téir abhaile riú Mhearai  
Téir abhail gus fan sa bhaile  
Mar tá do mhargadh déanta."

She tore herself away, and took up the loud and lively tune. Running to stand before the fire, Magda leapt into the air. Her legs bent and kicking back, practically disappearing under her dress. __

"Listen to the music flow  
I'm falling for the flow of home  
I'm home to dance till dawning."

For the first time, the music was slowing, as if to take a breath and compose, itself only to speed up again.__

"Téir abhaile riú, téir abhaile riú  
Téir abhaile riú Mhearai  
Téir abhail gus fan sa bhaile  
Mar tá do mhargadh déanta."

The slow moment was gone, and the music was up to speed. Everyone had gotten up to dance. And for a moment it was like a glorious and beautiful chaos.

_"Stay a while and we'll dance together now  
As the light is falling  
We'll reel away till the break of day  
And dance together till morning"_

Each and every gypsy had taken up a partner. They danced by one another, some were spinning and others were simply jumping and skipping. Clopin was now dancing with the lady singer; she smiled up at him, her wide dough brown eyes innocent and oddly adoring.__

"Téir abhaile riú, téir abhaile riú  
Téir abhaile riú Mhearai  
Téir abhail gus fan sa bhaile  
Mar tá do mhargadh déanta."

He found himself spinning again, picking up speed as he went. __

"Téir abhaile riú, téir abhaile riú."

Unbeknownst to the two leaders, they were on a collision course.

"_Téir abhaile riú Mhearai  
Téir abhail gus fan sa bhaile  
Mar tá do mhargadh déanta  
do Mhargadh de - do mhargadh déana."_

He heard the sing of violin before he saw her. The two spun to find themselves standing before one another; both, breathing heavily, their eyes feral with the music, and their hair disheveled by the dancing. In that moment, the Gypsy King found the Northern Queen beautiful, in an untamed way, the curl and smoky look of her hair as well as the playful and somehow serious temperament of her smile. The feeling it may not have appeared was mutual. Magda found herself appreciating the look of the Puppet King. If anything, his eyes intrigued her the most, the trickster's humor and yet the murderous and protective nature that had laced itself into his night sky eyes.

But the moment didn't last. The affectionate and curious observations were gone in laughter of the troupes. The self satisfied smirk had returned to Clopin's face, he smiled, revealing the menacing chip in his canine. Puffing out her chest, Magda fixed him with a glare; it was as if lightening had flashed across her vision. Snarling, she pushed past him and returned the sanctuary of her people.

_**Author's Note: The song I used for this part of the book is a personal favorite of mine. I've heard it a few times. But I didn't care much for it, until I watched the Celtic Woman perform the song in Atlanta on the T.V. The dancing, the sound, the instruments, oh it was to die for. Anyway, a lot of the choreography comes from the performance of that song. Here is the link, so you can get an idea of what the song sounds like and how some of the dancing may look. watch?v=KeF-KtXwndg**_


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